


Here, Let Me

by kolibris



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Boundary Issues, Hand Jobs, M/M, Service
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-27
Updated: 2017-08-27
Packaged: 2018-12-20 11:40:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11920125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kolibris/pseuds/kolibris
Summary: Ryuji just likes to do things for Akira.





	Here, Let Me

The pile of ginger in Akira’s bowl lies untouched, tinging every grain of rice around it pink, but Ryuji is still trying to add to it.

“That’s fine,” Akira says. “I can get more myself later.”

“Nah, don’t worry, let me do this.” Ryuji drops another tongful of ginger on top. It looks like a tiny pickle mountain now. “Least I can do after you helped me out!”

Akira doesn’t understand why decorating his beef bowl like this is his reward but he lets Ryuji do it anyway. Maybe this is some weird Tokyo etiquette thing he’s witnessing. Or maybe he’s being secretly initiated into some sort of gang; Kawakami _was_ pretty adamant that Ryuji was bound to be trouble.

Whatever it is, it’s… oddly nice, having someone dote on him.

Akira didn’t have close friends before, just classmates and acquaintances to talk to out of convenience, until an arrest record made them all disappear. Here in Tokyo, he wonders if it’ll be more of the same – always looking out for people who could benefit the Thieves the most – yet the longer he stays, the more he finds himself making connections out of honest interest rather than expectation. He has friends, now. It’s nice.

But he also finds that expecting his new friends to open up like Ryuji did is pretty unreasonable because, well, no one he’s known before or since has laid himself bare to Akira so full and fast like that. It was a life or death situation they were in, that brings people together real quick, so no wonder Ryuji was calling him ‘Akira’ even while his brain was still tripping over remembering ‘Sakamoto’. Akira saved his life and it was obvious Ryuji was grateful for it.

That appreciation never seems to run out; in fact, Ryuji always seems to be returning the favor to Akira. Little things, mostly, like surprising him with sodas or giving him first crack at that week’s Jump. It works well in the Metaverse too: he’ll lug around supplies and he’ll pump a shell into a Shadow after Akira sets it up and he’s taken more blows for him than he can count. Slowly, though, Ryuji starts to push it a little more, and as Akira eats the Jagariko that Ryuji insisted he hold from his fingers, he thinks that maybe this is beyond what friends normally do for each other.

Maybe it really hits him when they’re reading manga together in the attic one day, Akira propped up against Ryuji’s chest so he can flip each page of the magazine, one by one, so Akira doesn’t have to. That’s just how Ryuji likes to do it, reading over Akira’s shoulder and letting his head rest there, but it’s not like Akira’s hands stopped working or anything. It could be from Morgana watching them or how warm his ear feels when Ryuji’s talking right next to it but he grows uncomfortably conscious of how close they are, and he tries to move away.

Ryuji looks over. “What’s up?”

“I,” Akira chews on his lip, “I can do it. Turn the pages.”

“Why? I got it.”

“You don’t have to do that for me.”

“I know,” Ryuji says. He’s staring at Akira kind of weird and it makes him feel like— 

Akira quickly settles back into place and says, “Alright then, you got it,” and he can’t miss the way Ryuji brightens up, just like he always does whenever Akira lets him do these things. So he does, often, and he doesn’t think about it harder than he has to.

Then Sojiro surprises him one night when he says he’d lock up, just this once, so Akira can stay over at Ryuji’s place like they’d been planning to do for weeks. When he arrives and Ryuji brings him into his bedroom, he sits on the floor, next to a pile of his favorite snacks already left out. He goes to take his shoes off, but Ryuji’s already caught one zipper down and he tugs the boot off. Quietly, Akira lets him take off the other one too.

They hang out together, play some games and catch up on Jump and shoot the shit. It’s some god-awful hour in the morning before Akira finally crawls into the spare futon set out for him to sleep on, but it’s pushed up right next to Ryuji’s and Ryuji is splaying out halfway over into his anyway so it might as well be like they’re sharing one. He’s too tired to waste energy moving him, so Akira passes out next to him in a jumble of limbs and blankets.

It can’t be more than an hour or two before Akira awakens with a start.

He’s hard. That’s the first problem. 

The second problem is that he’s kicked Ryuji awake too and his tented sweats are on full display as Ryuji groggily glances around. Then he goes still. Akira’s not sure if Ryuji really sees anything – the room is dark – but Ryuji is definitely staring at his lap like he can, and then he makes a surprised, “Oh,” and that settles it. 

Akira quickly twists himself over. “Sorry,” he mumbles faintly into the side of his pillow, too mortified to speak any louder than that.

“Happens, dude, don’t sweat it.” It’s a small comfort that Ryuji sounds so casual about it, but it’s not enough to stem the flood of embarrassment that washes over him. Akira closes his eyes tight and wills his erection to go away, prays he’ll hurtle straight back into the unconsciousness of sleep and be put out of his misery, but neither of them happen and he lies tense as can be on his side instead. It feels like he must be lying there for a long time, trapped in his own head, but there’s no way he’ll get up now to check.

The futon rustles and shifts behind him and he jumps when he feels a hand press flat on his stomach, so low it’s touching the waistband of his sweats and a little underneath. Ryuji curves around his hunched form and hooks his head onto Akira’s shoulder, like he’s done so many times before.

“What are you…?”

“If you don’t relax, you’ll never go back to sleep. Then you’ll be cranky as hell in the morning, I know you.”

“But—” 

Ryuji’s hand slides under the band before he can finish and his fingers curl tight around the base of his cock. Akira looks down with wide eyes and strains to follow in the dark where his hand disappeared to. This is—this is pretty messed up but now he’s even harder than he was before and he wonders if Ryuji can tell. He must be able to when he starts moving his hand, working it fast and easy until Akira’s throbbing in it.

“Relax,” he says again, and Akira would if he could, but he’s doing everything in his power to not move a muscle, to not snap his hips hard into Ryuji’s fist. But he feels a familiar pressure building up already and he chokes up, it’s too much, he’s—

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Ryuji murmurs softly in his ear, “it’s okay, man, I got you.”

When Ryuji finally stops squeezing him to wipe his hand off somewhere, Akira runs his own over the front of his pants and the wetness splattered on them, almost in disbelief of what happened in there. He turns over to say something, but Ryuji’s already lolled back onto the futon. “Go to sleep already,” he says after a lazy yawn, and Akira dully tries to do what he’s been told. 

Somehow, sleep comes to him easier than he expected.


End file.
